


A Small Penance

by Joomju



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, It's how he rolls, Masturbation, Pining, Some Worship of the Lady, With some Angsty Self Loathing, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-02 21:51:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18819718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joomju/pseuds/Joomju
Summary: For the first time in weeks, he didn't have to awkwardly distract himself until the erection went away. There was a 'fresher down the hall. With a door. A door that locked.





	A Small Penance

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Tyrant's Atonement](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13358982) by [Defira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Defira/pseuds/Defira). 



> Kol'aya and this incarnation of Arcann Tirall belong to Defira. This fits into Chapter 22 of A Tyrant's Atonement. (They're on the ship, leaving Nar Shadda and going to Rishi.)

The night was the worst. Lying in the darkness of the tiny passenger cabin, knowing she was only a foot or two away, knowing that she was lying awake just like he was and pretending to sleep just like he was... it was a new kind of torture he could never have imagined.

He could hear her quiet breathing, knew the rise and fall of her chest that must accompany it. After weeks of confined, windowless rooms he knew her breathing as surely as he knew his own. It was an intimacy wholly at odds with the fraught nature of their relationship. 

He wanted to reach across, a hand in the dark, and say something. Anything that would distract her, anything that would make her relax. Maybe something to make her laugh. And if she didn’t want him to talk, well, he could put his mouth to other uses. Would she want him to kiss her? Probably not. She didn’t seem to harbour that kind of sentiment for him. What if he kneeled, offered to put his mouth between her legs? 

He shifted in the bed, adjusted to hide his erection from her as he had so many times over the past few weeks, and then he remembered - he didn’t have to distract himself this time. They weren’t in the makeshift clinic, they were on a ship. There was a ‘fresher just down the hall. With a door. A real door, that locked. 

The thought was no sooner in his head than he was out in the hallway, blinking against the light and groping for the right room. When he got there he didn’t even bother to turn on the light in the ‘fresher, just leaned his back against the closed door, flicked the lock, feet braced on the floor when he reached roughly down his pants. The first contact of skin-on-skin, the first stroke up and over the head, was like coming home. He took a moment to spit-slick his hand, then resumed his strokes and thoughts of Kol’aya.

He wanted to turn the lights on and trace her tattoos from her feet all the way up to her thighs. He wanted to roll her on her stomach so he could kiss the freckles on her back, and name their constellations after the stars in the sky. He’d been listening to the measured in and out of her breaths for weeks now; he wanted to hear her breath hitch under his touch. He wanted to drag his mouth over every inch of her body, until she was gasping at the ceiling and crying out his name. 

She’d called him by name before. She’d called him some other things too. Boy. Spoiled brat. Your Majesty, the title a mockery in her mouth. Was that how she would see him, looking down at him between her legs? The hand on his dick slowed down. 

It would be a complete reversal of his usual conquests. To be the one humbled, instead of the one in power. He wasn’t sure he’d like it. In the past, he’d been offered every type of sex game, including games of humiliation. He’d never been tempted. It was a lot of trust to place in a one night stand. 

Trust. Now there was an idea. 

Kol’aya had already seen him humiliated. Kol’aya already hated his character. Kol’aya had every reason to leave him for dead, and instead, she saved his life and gave him a new arm. She wouldn’t coddle him or pander to him, but he could absolutely trust her. She’d proven that. 

His hand picked up speed again, the fantasy taking a new turn. She’d keep the lights off, because she wasn’t interested in him. She’d grab his hair and put him where she wanted him, and he’d let her, because he knew she wouldn’t hurt him. He’d work her over for as long as she’d let him, wring out as many orgasms as he could until her juices were dripping down his chin and forearm. She’d push him away when her cunt was oversensitive to the slightest touch. He’d gently blow on it, to send one last ripple of pleasure through her. It’d be his penance to her, his gratitude, repaying her compassion one of the few ways he could. After, he’d rest his forehead on the inside of her thigh, his eyes cast down at the floor when he finally took himself in hand (the flesh hand, the one still slick from her) to wring out his one orgasm of the night. 

She would use him, and he would let her, just this once, because she was the only person in the whole godforsaken galaxy he could trust. 

His head thunked against the ‘fresher door and he had to lock his knees against the force of his orgasm.  _ First one in months _ , he thought, gasping,  _ of course it was going to come on strong _ . When the spasm passed and he finally came back to himself, he flicked the light on so he could find the tap to wash up. 

He barely recognized the man in the mirror. His colour was coming back, but there wasn’t much else to be said in favour. His face was gaunt and framed by scars, which marred the stubble trying to grow in patches along his jaw. She was right, a bit of cosmetic surgery would probably be a good idea. She was right about a lot of things. 

 

Tired and disgusted with himself, he decided to call it a night. 


End file.
